


Nothing But Great Life Decisions

by lover_of_blue_roses



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Body Appreciation, Body Worship, Confessions, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, Love Confessions, Lowkey Period-Typical Homophobia, M/M, Shenanigans, Very Dumb, accidental nudity, dumb boys very in love, thigh fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:29:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27287944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lover_of_blue_roses/pseuds/lover_of_blue_roses
Summary: Whiling filming Help! the boys get a little more than wasted and wake up in some strange unknown place. They don't decide to do anything particular sensible when they wake up either, accept perhaps when they both wind up naked and in each other's laps.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	Nothing But Great Life Decisions

**Author's Note:**

> Slams car's roof: this bad boy's got it; thigh fucking, body worship, fools in love, love confessions, (lowkey implied beatle poly)

rabbit!paul & rat!john

When John came to he had no idea where the hell he was. He was coming to quite quickly, probably because he didn't have much of a hangover. He must have slept through it and the coming down from that high. And fuck what a high it must have been, it didn't leave much behind but a faint buzzing in his limbs and soreness that lingered. He didn't remember most of last night, nor did he recognize the room he was in. 

He stirred, he was lying on something soft while a heavy weight was upon him. It was Paul pressed against him, half sleeping on top of him, drooling on his jacket's sleeve. Well at least there was that- no matter what, he could deal with this if Paul was by his side.

He gently eased his mate's head down from his torso-shoulder to his thigh so he could sit up. There was no use jostling and waking Paul before he's ready, firstly because coming down from a high while sleeping was more enjoyable and secondly because Princess Paulie could be a real bitch when awoken from his precious beauty sleep. Like he fucking needed anymore of that.

They appear to be in a cabin of sorts, somewhere appropriately Swiss, he thought with its exposed wooden walls and copper pottery decorations. It was a wonder really, John considered, that they had made it to wherever the hell they were. God if he and Paul were so high, as to lose the last however hours, it seemed a miracle they could walk let alone run, but their bodies seemed to be in fine order, it was just their minds that were janked. It was possible that how they'd come to be here was with someone's help but John... was concerned that wasn't so.

He could all too clearly imagine him and Paul running off into the night, hand-in-hand, laughing and stumbling in the dark. While he hoped it was just his imagination, he unfortunately could picture them getting lost or turned around and decided to Goldilocks a nearby cabin. While he hoped his break-and-entering theory was wrong the lack of anyone around, or even traces of them such as a spare coat, made it all the more unlikely. 

Paul snuffled a snore in his sleep, John would never say such a daft thing out loud, but compare to Ringo's chainsawing it was an adorable sound. Well with nothing to do, and nowhere to go, John just stroked Paul's hair in it's stupid haircut. John had genuinely found them real gear when they'd first gotten them, but now he's fed up with them and could really do with a change.

He still likes them, the idea of them, how scandalized those stupid old fuddy-duddys are by the idea of men with *gasp* long hair, and bangs. They thought that was long hair, they best be clutching their pearls for what John wanted next. He wanted long hair, all the way to his shoulders! Eppy would probably pitch such a fit if he knew John was even thinking about this, they couldn't be anything but clean cut, or else it wouldn't do. Fuck though, now that they'd made it, breaking so many records of all kinds, couldn't they cut back a little on those perfect, pristine images?

Paul fussed in his sleep. John realised as his fingers stilled that he'd let his agitation tug at Paul's hair. That wasn't on, Paul hadn't done anything to him and didn't deserve that. He did his best to smooth back the locks. But God Paul's hair was so smooth between his fingers. Had it always been like this or was it that blasted conditioner Eppy insisted they had to start using? Maybe it was just the inner shininess of Paul's soul that caused shiny hair, John thought to himself giggling.

Perhaps he was still a little high, although he was always having such a laugh, it was hard to be sure. Leaving one hand stroking Paul's he lifts his other to see if the conditioner has made his hair just as soft. He found it easier to do than that child's exercise of patting one's head and rubbing one's stomach. They must make quite a sight should anyone walk in; two Beatles in bedraggled suits, one past out and drooling, the other stroking his hair and his mate's at the same time, with a loony grin on his face. But John couldn't help but to find amusement in all of this.

Fuck, he didn't even know what language they spoke here but surely he didn't speak a lick of it. If they had landed on the German side he could at least hope to string two words together. If the French side, maybe Paul knew more than that flirtatious gibbering he pulled with birds. Italian or... Romanish though? Nah, they'd be shit out of luck then. 

He's pretty sure Paul's hair is softer, but could be he's biased because it's less pleasant to stroke his own. That might just be cause he doesn't have to bend his arm so, he could lower his head but not as far as his lap, and anyhow his arm would come with him. If he could get his mouth that close to his cock, it wouldn't be his hair he'd be minding.

It was beyond awkward with Paul's head still in his lap, but John was feeling a little randy. Whatever they'd done last night mustn't have been any relief of that kind. Didn't hurt that Paul was as pretty as a bird. 

He stares out the window, changing his thoughts course. There was this piece they've been working on. Just some silly something they plucked out on the chords, it didn't have any words yet or really a beginning or an end, just a little something that they might make into more. He hummed it as he tried to find words for it. Something appropriately lullaby-esque. Instead he ended up trying to fit the words of 'Drunken Sailor,' jamming as many syllables as he could before the break.

So that is how Paul woke, fluttering those ridiculous long lashes to open those absurd kaleidoscope doe-eyes open to the lyric of 'stick him in a scupper with a hosepipe bottom,' being softly sung. Paul yawned, cracking his jaw and effectively getting John's attention. While John tragically stopped moving his hand, he did look down with a beaming grin. "Sorry, Princess was there a pea in your bed?"

"Better than a drunken sailor," Paul quipped back as he tried to take stock of himself. A black hole where his previous conscious hours and how they got here should have been. Damn, maybe Rings was right and they did over do it. They're hardly going to stop the drugs, but at least less mixing, or maybe with better supervision. The idea of Neil holding them like toddlers on leads came to mind and he couldn't help but chuckle as he straightened out of his mate's grip, reluctant as he was to leave this rare tender moment with John behind.

Paul knew from countless experiences that it wouldn't last into the waking moments anyways and soon a more aloof, if not outright cold John, would take his place. It was already a treat to get one while the sun was up, but soon John's public persona will crisp any soft edges. Paul sighed but understood why it was so. Eppy's life was clearly very difficult and even just being seen as delicate or womanly could cause John, someone so in the spotlight and public, such endless hardship. Still there was hope, if they were in this cabin in God-only-knows-where and just the two of them. Not everywhere could be like their vacation in Paris, but Paul could still hope, even if that made him foolish.

Now that they were both awake, they slowly got up, leaning on each other. They had been lying on a plush thick fur of some kind, probably elk, which fit well into this cabin's rustic decor. The room was large and served in half as kitchen and living room, them in the latter half with a couch though no telly. It would be a wonder if this wooden chalet had electricity at all.

Paul made his way to the obvious door while John went to the window. Unlikely to see a sign that said 'Swiss equivalent to Hollywood' but you never knew, being landlocked tended to make people do all kinds of crazy things. Paul's door opened up to a cozy bedroom, looking vacant. Which was bad, because not only could they not get answers, it most probably confirmed John's more criminal theory. There was small simple bathroom attached that at least had running water for the boys to blessedly relieve themselves. 

"Ah." John said as he looked out the window. In no time his -the band's that is- bassist, and his long time partner and crime was by his side, looking over his shoulder. The window showed a steep slope, they must at least be on the first floor.

"Can't believe we managed stairs in our state," Paul chuckled as they found their way to a brute concrete staircase.

"Can't believe we managed anything in our state," John retorted, ah the wonders of drugs would truly never cease. Carefully as to not trip and bash their 'composers on par with Mozart' brains, they made their way down the steep stairs. There's no hand railing and no light. The whole ground floor, although it seems to be treated as a cellar, is very dim but for the fluorescences lining the walls.

In rows upon rows like books on shelf are smalls, stoppered bottles of reds and purples, alternating from floor to ceiling. Both of the boys are distracted from their goal of finding a door or returning to the lads and the filming. Without saying a word, just a look shared, they both go and investigate. "They look like a witch's brew," John joked but Paul was rather suspicious if not outright superstitious of it as John took a flask off the shelf.

Paul however cowered behind and slightly away, "John, I don't think we should. Is it not bad enough we've broken into this place- Trespassed in someone's-"

Ah so it wasn't just John that thought that, fuck. "I'm sure whoever's holiday home this is won't mind. I promise to sign the stationary on my way out to make up for their worries but honestly- that's probably what they get for not locking the door. Do you think we managed to break in while that high?"

"Mm," Paul grumbled, as he still shied away from the bottles even as John tried to hand him the purple one, picked to take a red one for himself. Paul gingerly took it. He looked down at it, rolling it between his palms, something was odd about it. "Is this- Does this glass seem hand blown to you?"

John shrugged casually. "How should I know, I'm an uncivilized barn animal, I can't tell the fish fork from the oyster fork, how do you want me to tell?" Paul just stared back at him. John sighed, he could pull shit with everyone but fuck Paul's just known him too long and can cut right to the quick of him. Without his glasses he must bring it up to his face, only a few inches away to examine it more closely. Despite the seemingly perfect and even thin glass he also saw the slightly asymmetrical shape of the bottle. Once he knew what he was looking for, he could see it on the others still on the shelf.

"Right, might be," John offered.

Paul was working at the small stout, cork stopper that closed each and every one of these bottles. "Do you reckon it's perfume?"

"What happened to this is trespassing?"

"Well, I've got to know now, haven't I? I don't be thinking it could be anything that would be ruined if opened?"

John looked back at the red vial in his hand. "Nah, can't be? I mean it's not vacuumed sealed, just stoppered. Give here," John's shorn nails proving a little better as he was able to drag out both corks with a single hard pull, leaving them only resting but no longer sealing the vials shut.

Both boys leaned, their moptops nearly touching as they pause with baited breath. From this close John could see the nearly golden flecks in Paul's eyes and Paul in his turn could smell John's beer breath, the very same he had all those years ago when they'd first met at the fête. John flicked his gaze away from Paul's, there was no need to stare into his eyes like some daft bird. He focused on the vial and without Ringo to count them in, they did it themselves. On the count of three they each removed the now loosened stoppers.

The odor from this distance hit them immediately. Odd, strong but good. It was far from the floral or musky synthetic smell of perfume, in fact they could not recognize it at all, but whatever it was, it made for a good combination. Paul was the one to hesitantly bring it to his mouth. Was he about to swig down what could possibly be soap? Then again, even as John snickered at the idea, he'd heard that people could get high from bath salts. This did seem to straddle the line between being dared to eat grass and trying out some unknown pills just because a friend of a friend suggested it.

Paul was cautious enough to take it slow but not cautious enough to not try it at all. He stuck out his tongue and tried to dribble a few drop on it. But the liquid was... viscous? But not like honey, if anything it was like mercury, pooling and clinging together. So while Paul prepared himself for just a little, tipping the bottle only slightly, the liquid had different plans sloshing into his mouth in its entirety.

John was stunned with shock, doing nothing but watching the entirety of the purple potion vanished into his friend- his best friend's- maw. While it was easy enough to sputter out normal liquids like water or vodka, something with a consistency closer to maple syrup was near impossible. What did not slide down his throat, coated his mouth, sticking to his gums and enamel. He bent over, hoping the rest would fall out as he pushed at it with his tongue. Although it was flavorless, he could feel it cling not only to his tongue but to his saliva which he spit out onto the floor.

There was absolute quiet in the chalet but for Paul's panting. Not the whir of a generator, the buzz of a refrigerator, not even the hum that accompanied light bulbs. Just them, all alone, and probably far from everything, including help. The small amount, still purple and glowing, he was able to spit out was too little too late. 

John was so concerned for his mate, terrified he'd ingested poison and now was sure to die a slow yet painful death, that he didn't think about the unstoppered vial still in his hand as he clutched at Paul fearing he'd surely collapse. Paul looked up from his heaving position to watch the spilled red liquid seep into John's suit. For once it wasn't the thought of Eppy's fury that had them frightened. "The fuck did you do that for?" Paul spit out, he was feeling fine for the moment but that didn't mean it was a good idea.

"I didn't fucking do it on purpose, now did I?" John retorted just as sharply, quickly tearing at his jacket as Paul's fingers frantically worked at the button up underneath, ripping it in their haste. Although the potion, whatever it had been, had left a red stain the liquid was gone, completely having seeped through the two layers and into John's skin. He touched the red stain hesitantly, it was not even moist, his skin having completely absorbed it. He poked at it in disbelief, Paul doing the same.

He shivered at the touch and so Paul retracted his hand as though burnt looking up at John's dark eyes, "Did that hurt?" Had Paul somehow lucked out with getting purple rather than red? Was that why he was spared the pain?

"Nah," John downplayed. It was true enough, Paul's touch hadn't hurt. It was just the feeling of callused fingers, yet soft palm touching the sensitive skin of taut stomach. It didn't tickle per say, no tickle was not the sensation this invoked but he dared not say more. "I think I feel fine," John said cautiously hoping it would hold even as he got the ridiculous need to touch wood as to not jinx them.

"That's, that's good then but-" he skated his finger over John's skin without actually touching, still just him hovering so close was enough to make John feel goosebumps over take him. He could just blame it on the cold of the room now that he's lost his top. Paul looked up at him with furrowed brows and John was on baited breath that he'd notice, say something about it. "What the hell do you think it was? I mean that's not normal that it- And when I tried, it wasn't liquid like- like a beverage, like anything normal."

John bent down to pick up his jacket and shirt, slipping them on quietly. "So- Do we- do you think it's best we just go find help?"

"Yeah 'course," Paul offered as he smoothed John's jacket over his shoulder. It was impossible but John felt like he could feel the heat of those hands through the thick material, they were still standing so close together, in the dim of the room. "Eppy will be mad if us going to the clinic is in the papers, but he'd be worse if we didn't go."

John chuckled quietly as he did up his chuffs. "Don't think he'd be happy if we were stuck on bedrest from self-inflicted poisoning but it sure beats the alternative of death." Paul laughed at this, exactly like John wanted, there's nothing quite like the joy of making people laugh, except perhaps the joy of what music does to them. "Somehow I think our fans will still love us."

"What, even if they know we are idiots?" Paul teased, elbowing John in the ribs as they laugh.

"Don't you think they already know that?"

"No, no, you were so distinguished in a Hard's Day. A real upper brow intellectual," Paul giggled and John made the same coke snorting gesture he did in the film, causing only more laughs. With John's wardrobe back in place, well as much as it could be when some of the buttons are missing, they make to take a step, and finally find the out to this place.

But with a single step, Paul felt something was very, very wrong. His body, his leg, it felt as though it's- He couldn't even think of how to describe it, never has he felt such a thing, almost as though his body is not his. As though he was a ghost, and his spirit was about to detach from his limbs. He tried to take a breath, gulping desperately, but his lungs seemed stuffed, his diaphragm would not lower and ribcage would not expand. He looked up at John with panic, an expression clearly mirrored in his friend's eyes.

What on earth was happening to them this time? They've done a lot of drugs in their times but this is new to even them, connoisseurs of intoxicants. The room seemed to shutter, as though an earthquake was overtaking the peaceful Swiss chalet. They knew it mustn't be true, that the feeling of shaking was coming from them, both from experience and the shelves of bottles that remain unmoving, but still their bones rattle in their skin as room tilts around them.

John and Paul could do nothing but try and catch themselves as their bodies fell. The dirty hardwood floor, was quickly coming up to meet him- until it was not. Paul laid there in darkness, the dim light that this downstairs, had turned to pitch as he continued struggling to breath, although now at least he could feel; his chest move again. For all that he could move his chest, something felt very wrong, his heart was hammering so fast, he feared he was nearing a heart attack. Even compare to the uppers he's known, this was leagues faster, surely such a rhythm couldn't be healthy. "J-John?" He called out, and even his mouth felt wrong, longer but narrower and without teeth, or teeth that were too long and too sharp. He couldn't even wrap his mind around all that he was feeling.

"Paul?" Called out the familiar voice and the familiar accent for all that it sounded different.

Or maybe what was different was Paul's ears. As he tried to move through the darkness and towards John he was realizing what had happened, even as his mind refused to accept it. His limbs were odd to respond to his movement but he continued at it doggedly, dragging his legs along. There was something brushing up off the top of his head. And it felt like fabric, like, like... the clothes he had been wearing.

He emerged from the collar of his suit to look out into the room, that seemed much changed. He was so freaked out, feeling his heart still alarmingly racing in his chest, as he tried to get the fuck away. Everything was bigger, towering over him, or rather, he was tiny. He looked down and while he still had two arms they were nothing like what he was use to. Black fur coated the appendages that were tipped with claws and paws at the end of wrists and elbows that couldn't rotate. The reason he'd been having such a hard time walking was because this body wasn't meant to walk on two legs as he looked down at his equally odd and furry feet.

"What the hell," he whispered as he turned to look behind him. John was right behind him, also free of his suit and examining the vials they'd dropped. The glass must be if not home made, at least unusual, for while the vials are lined with hairline fractures, they are not broken. And despite how odd the potions were to drink, so vicious and clingy there is in fact some left in each bottle, indicating which was the purple and which the red. But not droplets, merely a puddle formed at the bottom and spilling out.

Paul was focusing on that, on such a trivial thing because he felt it was the only way he could cope. He couldn't- He couldn't look at John or think about the predicament they found themselves in, he'd have to but he didn't want to. He stayed in denial a moment more, where he didn't have to deal with this or even face it, but then he took a bracing breath that still felt odd in his new ribcage.

A comfort zone is a lovely place where nothing grows he told himself as he had countless times before. However this wasn't like stepping out onto a stage, under the lights and before the audience, he hadn't trained or mastered his craft, in fact he had little idea at all how to deal with it, but still it must be faced if they are to move forward, or- whatever the fuck comes next after this. 

"John," he tried to say more firmly, at least if he were to get in this bind there's no one he'd rather have at his side than John, their band leader. Even if said band leader was a startlingly auburn rat, with the most ridiculous hairdo Paul could ever imagine on a rodent. He really looked like a rat with a moptop, if this wasn't so serious Paul would just lose it. He still might actually. 

"Paul," John replied in an equally serious tone, but his ears betrayed him. They lowered in anxiety, clearly telegraphing his expression better than any eyebrows.

That wouldn't do. Best to focus on the good, aye. He and John were unharmed, well - it hadn't been poison at least, and whatever this potion, for what else could it be but magic, they were in it together. Still there's no use crying over spilled milk, they -ah, there's no putting the cat back into the bag?- What was done was done and so now Paul at least wished to lighten the mood, there's no need for them to suffer in torment more than their circumstances.

To lull John into thinking nothing was uo, Paul tried to match this with his expression, feeling his long ears which had been perked and angled towards any and all noise, folding alongside his head. He isn't quite sure what animal he is but something bigger than the relatively small John. His new undoubtedly furry face felt different, different muscles, and different emotions possibly, but this also meant that he could twitch his nose while trying for his best puppy dog eyes.

John's odd lipless rat mouth twitched, it was harder to tell than if he was human but Paul was pretty sure it was working. He tried for his best Paulie voice as he twitched his nose and what felt like his tail, as he lowered his ears to their limit. "Johhnnnny," he stretched out like a haunted child from a horror movie and it was finally enough.

John broke, laughing so hysterically that he could do nothing but fall to all fours as his body was racked with his laughter. Paul too laughed, fuck what must he look like? Does he too have as much of a silly animal moptop as John? Fuck, imagine if whoever lives here where to discover them like this. Still Paul couldn't stop laughing, only needing to look up and see John to start laughing all over again. Maybe there was more than magic in that potion, for Paul felt giddy and high, and he'd like something more to blame than the bewilderingly bizarre circumstances they found themselves in.

"Can- Can you imagine," John tried to get out, "If the fans found us like this?" They both laughed because there's no other way to deal with the madness that has become of their lives with beatlemania. They already felt like animals in a cage, but now- And it would be a real petting zoo, to say nothing of the fact that they were now small enough to be held.

Paul started to laugh a stray thought, "Can you- God I'm imagining them trying to carry us and Mal just swatting them away." They both laugh, loud and long at the idea of the huge man cradling the now tiny pet sized Beatles under one arm and the other using a huge fly swatter to bat the girls away.

They keep enjoying themselves with more jokes as John tries out his new body, as does Paul. Walking on all fours was weird and odd, the floor so close up, the weight distribution so different. Actually John didn't seem to having that hard of a time with it, his legs well and even. But Paul was sure that he was stumbling about like a drunk, his hind legs disproportionate to his front ones.

"What even am I?" 

John just laughed even harder at this, must have been easy for him with that worm's tail. "Why don't you jump and find out?"

Paul almost understood as soon as it was said but still he tried, it refused to click in his mind. While his previous gate had been done and jostling, this sails him across the room, feeling natural and easy. Just to make sure he tried to flop his ears forward, but they kept up and twitching to pick up any noise. It was only with conscious effort and will that he could let them hang. A rabbit. 

"Well at least I'm not a rat," Paul japed. 

"Hey!" John laughed right back, chasing after him, but Paul found himself faster, his size advantage probably helping. 

"Wait, I'm bigger than you now," Paul realised as he followed that threat where it concluded. Turning around, he now gave chase to John. It was so deeply weird still, the vantage, the leg movements, hell even just John as an auburn rat with a moptop. 

With his speed advantage, it didn't take long until he was on top of him, being careful not to hurt him with his larger size. But John was playing along and allowed himself to be caught flopping about under Paul's strange round paws. He could feel his sheathed claws no different than flexing any other body part, so he was careful not to extend them. "You'd make a terrific mouser Sir Paul."

Paul laughed as he partly let him go, moving aside his paw only to place his head against his back. It was a joke until it wasn't, like with most things about them. Eppy had been saying that there was talk of giving them some kind of   
order of chivalry. That they'd be brought to meet the Queen and everything. It sounded so fucking silly and ridiculous he had little doubt it would happen. It was hardly thousands of teenagers screaming as some wet themselves and rocked wigs. Now everything seemed possible.

And fuck- Of course, today he'd been turned into a leporid. Christ, he really was in denial as Paul made a joke back about John hopefully being still as smart as a human, and thus capable of avoid any feline or foe. 

"Ah, Paulie, you think I'm smart?"

"Only compare to a rat, for a human, you and Rings could serve as bags of rocks."

John laughed as he wriggled loose from Paul's chin, at least enough to be lying on his back instead, Paul feeling the difference with what must be his bare underbelly. "Is that fair to say, when he's not here to even defend himself?" Paul could smell him so clear and it was so- John. There were no adjectives, no words, he just smelt it and his brain told him John. "I see- but no move to defend yourself, no interesting. And no, no, we're all in the same boat."

"A sinking boat if we're rocks," John quipped, just as clever as always. 

"If it wasn't for Eppy and Henry, we'd have no brains in the lot of us." 

John laughed even harder, sharing the joke. "Yeah, we should call them Mum and Papa 'cause that's what they are." Now both the boys were in hysterics, they could imagine it all to clearly. Brian would play at being offended at being Mum all while loving that the boys care about it so much, while Martin would be nothing less than stone faced, possibly only reprimanding them with his dry, dry humor. Just as Paul might think they were winding down John set him right back, "Got to get Eppy a #1 mum mug now."

The visual had them in stitches, then- As quickly as it had happened one way, it had happened the other. Paul's head was resting on a very bare and naked human John, his own human naked body pressed against the guitarist's. Just like that all the humor and mirth was gone, the silence heavy and awkward. Paul jolted backwards, looking away. His head had really- that bristle against him, had been John's happy trail. 

He could feel himself blush as he tried not to make it too awkward. lt just - this things just happened sometimes, normally it wasn't magic, and it'd been a long time since their shared room in Hamburg, but if they just ignored it, and pretended it didn't happen it was fine. Nothing to see here, move along. 

But then- but then nothing. Paul was looking away, waiting for John to put more distance between them but he didn't. Could it be- but of course, Paul was just being foolish. While he'd removed his hand from John and leaned his weight back, he hadn't actually removed himself from John's person. John wasn't leaving only because he couldn't, of course. So Paul- who tried ever so carefully not to think about what exactly he was sitting on, all his bare skin against all that bare skin- shifted his weight to his knees to get up. 

It wasn't intentional, Paul really wanted to extricate from this whole situation, but in effect what the movement did was rub himself against John who sighed. Paul dare steal a quick look, at least John's face was as red as Paul feared his own was. For fuck sake they were both men, it's not like they'd never shared the dressing room or some other changing room, so why were they like this? There just- there'd always been something more, something extra with John. His best friend, the talent, beautiful John Lennon. Who literally had thousand of screaming girls he could pick from. Not that Paul didn't have that too, it just- well, John knew him even when he was a little upstart scouser. 

Sure John had sighed but- it had almost sounded like... regret. Regret that it had taken so long for Paul to move? Paul wondered as he hesitated in midair, his weigh no longer sitting on John. Had John- Could John have thought that maybe the reason Paul wasn't moving, was the reason Paul hoped John wasn't moving? Maybe they really were idiots but for their staff parents. Paul stole another glance, it was hard to tell with embarrassment and shame being the main expression what John might really be feeling, but John had said nothing about Paul getting off of him. Could it be hope that was starting to dawn in his eyes?

Still there was one thing Paul could do rather than hope John would break the stalemate, let alone in his favour. John had a temper when cornered, and that was the last thing Paul wanted. Hesitantly Paul reached out, it was beyond awkward with them both starkers and so close together but they were keeping their eyes on each other's faces so Paul just had to stop being such a wuss. "I just wanted to let you know- uh y'know, cause you're like this especially but also with the suits and stuff," damn he was rambling, he just didn't want to fuck this up. "It's not true what they say about you in those rubbish papers."

Now John was looking away again, not just averting his eyes but dragging his head out of Paul's hold; the shame and embarrassment were back, possibly even worse. So Paul was right, this was some of it at least. "You're-" Fuck that sounded so queer without him even saying it out loud. But there wasn't much straight about straddling your best lad in your birthday suits. Maybe George and John were right, when they talked about society teaching boys hard edges were they had the right to be soft. Why was it wrong to be loving and caring? How could it? 

So Paul sucked it up and grabbed John's face again, more firmly but still tenderly, stroking his thumb over the soft skin of John's cheek. "You really are, there's nothing wrong with you, but you've got to believe that even if you were 25 stones and we had to roll you onto the tour bus, we'd still love you. It's your wit, your talent, and dare I say your charm that I lo-" Paul bit his tongue. Maybe there was more than shapeshifter juice in those vials.

John had that look again, like hope was dawning for him. Because he thought Paul loved him. Well- maybe, Paul certainly thought of him as his best friend and he loved him like that, like a brother. But love, like... kisses and cuddles, and cold nights cozied up together? Well actually when he put it like that, Paul was already doing two of those. How many tour nights had they been jammed in a single bed, and while it could be uncomfortable, he also knew he always favored doing it with John than the other lads. When they were cold and would share heat, how John could get right close to him to see him because of course the git never wore his glasses. How Paul would get just as close right back to bum a light. 

Slowly, hesitantly, lest Paul have terribly misunderstood all of this, he lowered his hands. John's first reaction was in fact sadness at Paul's hands leaving his face, as though the bassist had only just realised what he was doing and was going to leave. But then when they reconnected on his chest, Paul could directly feel the whoosh of air John let out, sagging in relief. 

Paul dared to look down. He was right. John was fine. Very fine. Sure he'd seen but he'd never allowed himself to look, never this close and in this context. A nearly hairless chest, with a few patches of auburn that did nothing to hide his dusky nipples. If anything it accentuated them, framing them. As for his build, it was true he had more of a bulky, brawny look now -especially compare to George that was rail thin, little more than bones in a suit- but by no means did this detract from his beauty, if anything it made him look stronger... more virile. 

"Honestly John, there's- absolutely nothing wrong with the way you look," fuck. Paul was pretty sure he could feel his cock start to harden. It wasn't much, just the start of a chubby, but simply terrifying, which actually was doing much to keep it at bay. Twenty-three and this was the first time a bloke was making him hard, who wouldn't be scared, especially seeing how the world treated queers. Yet he could no more deny it than he could his love for music. 

The good news was that John hadn't noticed yet, the bad news was that something else was wrong. The guitarist wasn't making eye contact with him, his face screwed up. Paul had clearly fucked up, shite. Probably would have been best if he hadn't said anything, maybe John just prefered himself as skinny as he was, and now Paul's implying he use to be ugly to him. Christ, bollocked it up in countless possible ways.

"I-"John's hand grabbed at his tummy, aggressively pulling at the flesh as though he wished to simply rip it off. Paul soothed his hand over John's feeling their fingers almost intertwined, interlocking as one passed over the other, just a turn of the wrist and they could be holding hands. 

John couldn't bare to finish his sentence, hanging his head in shame. But how could Paul fix this without knowing exactly the source or nature of his insecurities? He- as soon as he thought it, he knew he was intentionally being manipulative to get John to open up, but if he had every intention of assuaging any concerns and comforting the man did it really count? He'd done whatever it took to get here, rock stardom, but it wouldn't be worth a damn without his best friend at his side so he'd be just as ruthless with him. "Tell me, *darling*.'

The word clearly had its intended effect, a shiver running through John. If needed Paul wasn't above using the big guns like 'sweetheart' or 'love'. His charm was something he normally put on for the others, but if a little honey helped him catch this fly, it wasn't a moral he minded bending. 

"I hate- I don't like the way it makes me feel." 

'Being fat?' Was the question that jumped to the tip of Paul's tongue, that would be beyond stupid. Not to mention he didn't even think John was fat for all that the press called him that, Paul wasn't even sure it had properly risen to the level of 'plump.' "That what makes you feel?"

"The eat- the overeating. I just- I get bored, and I get the blues, I just- fuck I feel so wrung dry to give the label just another song, just another piece of me before the deadline so we can get another album out already, and we're touring, nowhere to go, nothing to do, just trapped every day, all day, all the time. So I just- eating is fun, and it makes me feel good, but then I don't stop. If I have nothing to do, I'll just eat even though I'm not hungry, and the food we get when out is so often- terrible. Just greasy, fatty, and it feels so good in the moment and then I hate myself, and I look in the mirror and I hate myself, and I open the bloody fucking papers and they're calling me the Fat Beatle in bold and I hat-"

"Stop." Paul had heard enough. Right then. So John didn't like what had made him gain his weight. The eating, overeating, eating when not hungry, eating overly fatty and heavy foods. But not just that Paul read between the lines. The touring, the horrible boredom where you just felt wound up with nothing to do, and nowhere to go. Alright then, he wouldn't validate John's habits if they were these hurtful, hateful things he hated about himself. But that didn't mean he had to hate John for them either. 

"Okay, okay. Just know- that know matter what, I will always love, we all- *care about you.*" It was one thing for him to say he loved John, but to put those words into the other's mouths felt like too much, even as he thought -wished- it was true. All their lives they'd grown up being told they couldn't show affection, couldn't say it in so many words, that Paul couldn't seem to let go of these unhelpfully toxic ideas that were governing his life. "But if you don't like coping you're doing, no different than getting shitfaced on drink, then I won't tell you it's okay. I know you can do better, and I hope you will, for your own sake. But just because you have behaviors that you, I, or society doesn't like, doesn't mean I don't like you." 

Paul didn't even know if anything he'd just said made since. There was really only one thing he could do to clearly communicate his regard for John. He leaned in and kissed him. Their very first kiss. It was soft and tender for all that they were experienced men. Paul felt like he was nineteen again, just a foolish lad and his best friend alone in Paris, far from everything they'd ever known. Just the two of them and nothing else. 

Slowly Paul broke away to watch John's face, blushing and averting his eyes. Maybe that had been a mistake. He knew how John could feel about queer things, and it wouldn't surprise the bassist if John felt the need to justify this by saying it was just physical if they didn't do things like kiss. 

But in fact, John would not coward before these terrible feelings. It was... both new and not new all at once. He'd loved Paul for years, and yet at the same time this was the first time he realised the extent of his feelings let along acknowledged them. Gently he reached out to cup Paul's head, slipping his fingers back into those silken strands like he had when the man had been sleeping. Delicately bringing his mouth back to Paul's.

Their kiss was still more intimate than passionate, but Paul could feel how this reciprocation made him come alive. This was John, his John, in his arms and willing. Paul opened his mouth with a breathless moan as he pushed his tongue forward, John reciprocating in kind. 

They kissed like that as Paul ran his hands over John's bare skin. It was true, the man was soft under his hands now, but Paul couldn't say he minded. He'd been with skinny birds, but he'd always prefered the ones with curves, really something hold on to and grope. All their soft edges pressing comfortable against him. Only they weren't chest to chest. And Paul knew why, it had nothing to do with John's body. Or at least not that part of it.

Paul could feel his cock hardening and stiffening from his lap. If he was chest to chest or rather stomach to stomach, there's no way John wouldn't notice. While Paul hoped that John too was getting hard, and liked to think his skills were good enough for it, he couldn't imagine how it would be anything but... simply put, awkward. He'd only just come to the realisation he was lusting after a man, and while kissing had been the same, this would be... very different. Undeniable that he was male.

Great now Paul was being as standoffish as he feared John would be about kissing. He did care for John, so he'd just have to get over himself and his weird fear that came from the world telling them homosexuality was wrong. But if he succumbed to that fear he would only be denying himself pleasure and love.

He broke the kiss only to grasp at John and get even closer. John panted out, "Hold on, hold on." He levered his hands under Paul's thighs and tried to lift him, shift him backwards. Which was the opposite of what Paul wanted. Was something wrong, had he-? Oh. Paul realised he'd sat his whole weight back onto John, and must have been crushing the poor man into the hard, unforgiving floorboards.

Paul shifted himself so he was sitting right next to John with their legs crisscrossed out of the way. Which meant if Paul just leaned forward- They both sighed, groaning as their hands found purchase on one another again. John was at half-mast too and with every little rub and twitch, Paul could feel himself sliding against John, rubbing his cock against his soft pudge. John lowered a hand to wrap it around the both of them, pressing their cocks tightly together.

Paul hissed at the sensation while John let out a throaty moan. The bassist wanted almost nothing more than to let himself get swept away, to sink his teeth into the meat of John's shoulders and let the pleasure just build. But what gave him the most pleasure was in fact not his own, but serving his partners. And knowing how greedy John could get, Paul could only imagine how good it could be to service John.

So it was that he pushed at John's chest even though it nearly pained him to do it. "Hold on, let me just- let me do this for you." And then he was eye-level with John's cock and looking back up, not so much waiting for approval as savoring the delight on John's face at this 'favor' he was doing him. John really liked his hair apparently, holding on tightly enough to lightly tug at his roots. It felt great and Paul could already feel how hot it was making him.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't daunted by a cock, let alone putting one in his mouth, but he knew it would be worth it in the end, and if birds could do it there's no reason he couldn't figure it out. He started with small licks of his tongue, awakening the nerves for John, and getting his mouth limber for himself. At least he could be reassured with John's reasonable size.

Still for all that it seemed average, it was enough to stretch Paul's mouth and fill his mouth, the tip pressing at the back of his mouth and causing him to gag if he wasn't careful. But he knew from first hand experience there was much more than getting it all in. So he wrapped his hand around the base, moving in rhythm with his mouth, focusing on tucking away his teeth, providing good suction, and giving the right amount of attention to the head. 

John's fingers tightening in his hair was the only queue he got that John was feeling anything. Well that and the throbbing sign of pleasure between his lips, but it didn't tell him what he was doing that was working and most importantly what was not. The angle was awkward for Paul to see his face even when he opened his eyes, but John quickly noticed Paul's open eyes pulling him off. Paul didn't know how girls made that sexy little pop, maybe he hadn't been sucking hard enough. 

Instead he was just left there kind of hanging by his hair, feeling his drool drying coldly against his skin. He felt... awkward. Normally oral gave him not just a sense of power or control, but confidence. So clearly pleasing his partners and making them lose it, which pleases him. But here there was none of that, none of that warm glow of a job well done. Paul was used to being the talented one in everything he did, everything he set his mind too. And to think that now he should fail, with something so important as John and their love.

At least John doesn't seem angry as he brought Paul in for more soft, sweet kisses. To say neither of them are birds they sure do kiss tenderly a lot. "Was that okay? Not too much? I do imagine it was your first time."

"I- yeah 'course. First bloke I kissed, let alone..." But why on Earth asking Paul this? Yeah, sure he heard what the scouser said, but really? Paul had never known John to be quite so selfless about something so personal. But maybe it was different than all the tales he'd shared of his conquests before, because this time it was Paul. Someone he truly seemed to hold in high regard. Still, "I'm sorry, I can do better, I just need to know."

Now it was John's turn to worry and frown, what was his friend talking about? "Better?" The word barely computed. "Get any better and it'll be over before it starts." But upon seeing the true concern he answered more helpfully, if not just as honestly, "Paul that was really great. Couldn't ask for more from a first time. You were figuring it out no problem. I could do with a little more tip focus, but that's no complaint with what you were doing. Ba! Could you imagine? You doing me the favor of sucking my cock, but that's not good enough for me?"

Paul could feel half a laugh huff out of his mouth, warmed by John's compliments. They're rarer than hens' teeth and worth more than gold. "Well," Paul said in a teasing, high lilt, "Couldn't you? The Mighty Beatle John Lennon? If I disappoint you, you could throw me out into the snow, and simply have another more talented tart." 

John laughed. "I don't think, in all those screaming hordes, I could find another tart that plays the bass half as well as you." 

They laughed again and Paul felt the whole atmosphere lighten. At the end of the day they'll still be dipshits that care and trust each other. John's weathered Paul getting deported for lighting a condom on fire, he can put up with an eager if mediocre blowjob. 

Once the laughter died down, and they only have smiles to grin at each other like loons, Paul leaned in for another kiss. He went to made it only another soft one, but John dragged him tightly to him, plundering his mouth. Paul moaned eagerly as he felt his brought forward, their chests flush and their cocks press against one another. Paul took a haltering, stuttering breath, but fuck he'd almost forgot about his own arousal so wrapped up in John's pleasure.

Again John's hand was around them, wanking them off with his guitar calloused hands. Paul could feel how much wetter John's dick was than his own. Honestly it was making his mouth salivate, as he could barely focus on anything. He tried though. As John had said, he liked giving the tip more attention, grinding the heel of his palms over them, tracing a finger to slide over their frenulums. "Ah-ugh," Paul ripped his mouth away from John groaning, as his hands dug into John's as he clenched down. Fuck, it was too much for him. He was oversensitive and not in a good way. He needed to do something to stop this, to regain control. 

But he could never tell John he didn't enjoy what he was trying. If Paul found a lack of feedback crushing, he could only imagine how John would take to an out right negative comment. No instead the best plan was the first plan. Paul opened his mouth and suckled at John's shoulder, leaving love bites in his wake. Much like he would with a bird, he mouthed at the soft flesh of John's pudgy pec before lathering the nipple. John grunted his hand once again finding its way to Paul's hair, he must really like it. "I see George isn't the only one to like putting things in his mouth."

If Paul wasn't hard he might have found that comment hilarious rather than revolting. And here he'd only ever thought of George as a brother, a little brother, but then again hadn't he always thought of John as a 'just' his friend. In retaliation Paul bit down, causing John to laugh again. Once he was sure his teeth had left their mark, Paul detached himself putting on his coyest face.

He looked up through his lashes, knowing how devastating his eyes could be. He had a lot of experience with seduction, even it was with the other sex, so he might as well try to put it to some use. "I might be wanting more to put in it. I had been rather enjoying myself before I was so rudely interrupted."

John smiled even as lust boiled in his veins, he liked how bratty and uppity Paul could get especially if it meant John would have to put him in his place. Yanking him around by his head, John dragged Paul and his sinful mouth back to where he -they both- wanted it most. "I don't imagine even this will be enough for you slut."

Paul looked up at him coyly, the little bastard as he opened his plush, red lips to close around his tip. John groaned at the pleasure of having him back on his cock. Fuck. Blowjobs always felt so good but this one really had something extra because it wasn't just anyone, it was Paul doing this. Willingly, eagerly. He wasn't just doing it out of politeness or in the hopes of reciprocation. Paul just... really wanted him. 

It simply elevated the pleasure as John bit back his noises, tugging at Paul's locks as he felt that devilish tongue wrap around him, adding the suction of his mouth. He wanted to savor it, but honestly there was no way he could keep holding on. "I'm -fuck Paulie- I'm so close, I'm gonna-" Paul popped off his mouth, using his hand to finish him off. 

Even if John's eyes hadn't been opened, looking into that gorgeous face, he would have known anywhere that this was Paul because his hands were calloused from playing the bass. That roughened texture rubbing along his delicate skin. If anything it just heightened the pleasure as he screamed out, coming, his back bowing as his body was nearly convulsing. 

He lay there panting feeling his come sticking to his skin and slowly drying out. It took him longer than normal to catch his breath back. That had really- been something else. Which was why he only caught on when Paul awkwardly shifted. Fuck, how inconsiderate of him.

"Here, here, let me help you out with that," John offered, his voice all rough from screaming, but this was hardly the first time Paul had heard it in such a state although never from such a circumstance. 

Paul looked almost hesitant at him as he scootched so they were almost chest to chest with Paul seated on top of John. "You sure? You don't have to?"

On one hand, no John was not sure. He wanted nothing more than to deny and pretend none of this had ever happened. He didn't want to have to think about it, let alone think of it rehappening. He didn't want the lads to know, he didn't want any questioning or knowing looks. He wanted to bury his head in the sand and fuck a thousand women in the hopes that this was all some drug-crazed one-time thing. 

On the other hand, John couldn't imagine how he couldn't keep going. He'd already gone this far, and how horrid would it be if he only satisfied himself before kicking Paulie to the curb. That would go beyond denial and just be straight up selfish. If nothing more Paul deserved for John to at least finish him off. But John also knew that now that he'd had a taste he could never forget, never go back. He'd always want this, not just this literally and physically with a man, but this with Paul in particular. All their shared moments, looks across the stage even if only just a microphone apart, those hours spent together writing songs. Now that he knew he could have more, he wanted. 

So really there was no choice as John wrapped his hands around Paul. For all that it was daunting and terrifying to be with another man like this, John couldn't chicken out. Not when it meant Paul. 

Paul let out soft little sighs as John worked up and down his shaft. Breathless little noises being huffed out right against his ear. John's pretty sure if he had been any younger, he'd be getting hard again just from it. Fuck, no wonder all the birds went crazy for him. "Can I-" John was struggling enough to touch Paul back, especially now that the haze of pleasure had left him feeling cold and very aware of exactly what they were doing. He couldn't imagine putting his mouth on him. With a handjob he could almost pretend it was normal, just him jerking himself, albeit from an odd angle and without feeling it. But to suck cock? That was asking a lot of him, especially for his first time.

'Paul had been able to,' that terrible part of his mind told him, the same part that made him over eat in the hopes to fill the apathy in his soul. But thankfully Paul knew him well, and understood John's hesitantly stuttered words. So rather than push him, Paul offered up something else. Something John could do that perhaps wouldn't be too much for him. Damn, he really did sound like a blushing virgin. 

"I've just been thinking- You've really got thighs like a rugby player." Paul meant that as a compliment but he wasn't sure it had come out that way. 

John just frowned at this comparison. Alright, he supposed, vaguely. Although rugby players had muscle rather than blubber. That was just- a rather odd comparison. Especially right off the top of his head... "Been thinking about them for a while?"

Paul blushed as he looked away, an apology on the tip of his tongue. But there was nothing wrong with appreciating a man that he now wanted to be lovers with. And how could he have not noticed them, especially with how John's trousers strained to restrain his new girth, practically bulging at the seams. "Maybe." 

John might have been blushing too at this comment. He felt- loved. Paul must have been telling the truth when he said he didn't mind John's body, although it's hard to believe. "What- What about my thighs?"

"I, well, I don't know if you've ever done this with a bird-" John was terrified for a moment that Paul was about to suggest using the 'backdoor'. He had in fact done that with birds before, but the very idea of Paul going near his arse, filled him with icy fear. "But it's generally called thigh fucking," John let out such a sigh of relief it was easily audible.

Paul looked up, John had no idea what his expression must be like. He did know of this too, it served as middle ground especially when one didn't have a condom. He prefered titty fucking if he was to thrust between smooth flesh being squeezed together, but not all girls were so endowed. "Sounds like a plan," John tried to make himself sound confident and comfortable, far from his earlier terror. 

"We don't have to if you don't-" 

"How considerate Paulie, but I've said it's fine," And with that John was manhandling Paul, lifting Paul so he could sit up and kneel. This position also had the added benefit of plumping his thighs, tensing and compressing them and the gap that could exist between them. Good thing he wasn't as hairy as Paul or else this could be rather uncomfortable he imagined. Paul's attention wasn't on his face anymore, his gaze was transfixed on John's thighs like they were the Holy Grail. John really- he really didn't think he was anything special, let alone with his new size, but Paul looked at him like he was a naked Brigitte Bardot. And he wasn't going to lie, and say that didn't make him feel great. Not just pretty, but powerful.

He wrapped a hand around Paul's nape and pulled him closer, "Come on now, what's so good about looking when you can have." Paul allowed himself to be dragged until his cock was nearly touching John's stomach. With a hand, John guided it down. Without lube the fit would be tight for all that Paul was leaking precum like a runny faucet. John shifted his thighs so that Paul would have more room. Paul groaned out at this, clutching onto John desperately as he rutted like an animal. "Yeah you like that?" That much friction must almost hurt, but if anything Paul seemed to be revelling in it. John wondered as he watched the ecstasy take over Paul's sweaty and disheveled face. 

Then without warning, he struck Paul's ass. Slapping it loud enough for the striking flesh to make a cracking sound that echoed in the space. Paul yelled at he shot a squirt of come is sheer surprised pleasure. Ah, so John was right, Paul did like that kind of thing. John smirked as he repeated himself, "I asked you a question."

Paul was practically shaking in his arms as he rutted without any control or finesse. "Yes, yes, feels so good. So Good." With every thrust, Paul was creeping upwards. He didn't seem to be doing it on purpose, simply trying to get the most comfortable angle for thrusting. But it also meant that now the top of his cock was grazing against John's balls. Fuck, fuck. It was too soon for him to get hard again, but that didn't stop his cock from valiantly trying. 

John should really push him away, but instead he had his hands on Paul's hips feeling the movements and even controlling them as Paul got swept up in the extasy. John tried his best to be seductive as he whispered in his hoarse voice, "You gonna come for me pretty boy?" 

Paul groaned as his grip dug into John's flesh. A litany of please and yes were coming from those plush lips along with curses and John's name. John wasn't sure Paul had really heard him, or if he was simply too gone but it was good enough. Without warning John tensed his thigh muscles, squeezing the gap Paul was enjoying into a vice. Paul cried, both yelling out the sound, and tears springing to his eyes. It didn't take long, just another few half-aborted thrusts for Paul to come screaming John's name.

Paul collapsed onto John panting and shuttering. Great now John was covered in come from both ends, but it had all been worth it for how enjoyable that had been. And what was even better is that they would get to do it all over again. John ran his hand through Paul's hair, it was sticky with sweat now but it was no less fine to him simply because it was Paul's. Slowly Paul tilted his head up to look at John, a soft smile on his lips. Lips that he pressed to John's again. Again it wasn't about passion or lust, nothing but tenderness, nothing but... love. And how else could John respond but kiss him in return.


End file.
